C Is For Drowning Under Waves of Listless Apathy
by eden alice
Summary: 'This was never about comfort.' Jac/Michael angsty smut.


C Is For Drowning Under Waves of Listless Apathy

She held her ground as he slowly leaned in, eyes darting over her face to read her reaction. They have found themselves in a similarly alarming position the first time they had worked together. Then his wife had arrived and she had backed away for once and they went their separate but equally messy ways till she had needed him to save her life. Only this time Jac did not care enough to turn her head or push him away as Michael kissed her.

She did not respond at first, the alcohol running through her veins making everything more muffled and hazy. She was sure she used to be able to hold her alcohol better but years of being a health freak had turned her into a bit of a light weight. Her fingers were numb and she barely noticed how tightly she clutched the bar.

There was more than likely at least of one of their colleagues were watching because they were both that unlucky. And they don't really deserve luck when they were big enough idiots to choose to drown their sorrows in a bar that was very nearly hospital adjacent.

"Just let it fall away Naylor."

He breathed in her ear trying to ease the stiffness in her angular body. She did not know if she wanted to laugh hysterically at him trying to smooth talk her, the one person who knew him inside out and saw past his shinny bullshit or cry. Instead she settled on raising one eyebrow sceptically, just to show she did not appreciate being talked to like some dumb little bimbo before closing her eyes and opening her mouth under his. He tasted rich and bitter all at the same time and just maybe if she shut her eyes tight enough she could pretend he was someone else. She wondered if he would pretend she was Annalese or Donna or some other conquest. It wasn't that they were not attracted to each other, they are family after all but she craves the comfort of the arms of a man she could not have, not after everything she had done.

All she wanted was to forget. Forget recent events with her mother, her every tragedy and damning mistake but mostly she wanted to forget her own pathetically crippling emotions. So when being an emotionless super doctor became too tricky with Sacha picking at healing wounds she took the American up on his offer of copious amount of alcohol. Only the drink did nothing but make the world spin while the images in her mind only became more abstract and excruciating.

If she couldn't melt away and escape her body in alcohol induced oblivion she would ground herself in banal sensation, the way his neatly trimmed nails dug into her waist, the warmth of his tongue in her mouth. She had thought about hurting herself or not coping professionally and destroying the only thing she had left that she valued, her career. But this seemed more apt and so unlike her ice queen image. She had been celibate since that last time with Joseph, as if her unconscious was saving herself for him, the idea made her angry, made this yet another betrayal of that gentle man all over again. But then she always did destroy everything she touched.

Michael seemed equally drunk and desperate. His pretty eyes were so dark they could be black and empty and so familiar that she could not look into them. Instead she focused on his lips as he talked to her listening to the low timber of his tone rather than the words, ignoring how she did not need to be a doctor to see how he was inebriated on more than just alcohol.

They were both made of shrapnel and sharp edges but any new hurt was welcomed. This was never about comfort; neither of them was that kind of person not while there was a way of sinking even further. And then that urge to laugh or cry was back again, chocking her a little.

Somehow they had ended up stumbling outside to a deserted and shadowy car park, clinging to each other like silly school kids just to stay afloat. Jac can't remember if she had picked up her bag or not but her keys and mobile are in the pockets of her leather jacket and the rest doesn't matter so much.

She brought a hand up to cup his jaw as the kiss grew heavier, the stubble stung the sensitive pads of her fingers and somewhere under the haze of alcohol there was a flash of a memory because she still can not let go of her self pity.

Michael's hands were hot under her shirt as he traced the line of vertebra down the centre of her back before following the curve of her ribs round to her front. It suddenly occurred to Jac that she felt cold so she pressed herself tighter against him. He moaned into her mouth and she bit his lip just enough to draw blood and make him squirm.

"Please don't stop." The voice sounds like hers but she didn't remember saying the words. She did not do this and she never begged but if he stepped away from her now she would simply shatter because her walls had fallen and she had no way to save herself from the weight of her pain.

"I'm not going to darling." She was beyond wishing he would not call her that so she slid her hands underneath his shirt, placing her palms flat against his abdomen and felt the tight muscles twitch under them. She thinks about how easy it to get a reaction out of him and silently commands him to stop her thinking all together.

He pushes her against some random car before he pulls away enough to breathe, a lazy grin spread across his handsome face. She is still thinking of an insult when his teeth graze her neck.

"So my place or yours?" She asks, body almost humming with pleasure. He makes her knees want to buckle and she is glad all his practice has paid off. He was so very good at this.

He swears into the paleness of her neck. "Yours, yours is closer."

She lived a short (sober) walk away but Jac wondered if his choice was because her walls were impersonal and cold, not filled with mementos or pictures of his grinning brood. Then she wonders how many children he has anyway as she had always carefully avoided counting.

Time blurs again and they are in the back of a taxi, shrouded in shadows only broken by the bright street light that play patterns on the warm caramel of his skin. The driver grunts but is almost silent, an inky form she has to squint to make out. A headache starts to form and it's as if Michael knows she's starting to sober up when he pulls out a small silver flask. Absolutely pissed was the only way this could happen and she did want it to happen. Regrets be damned.

Jac wounded if Michael felt guilty for betraying his estranged wife, or if this was a game to him, another spiteful way to get back at the woman who had finally left him and shacked up with his biggest rival. She thinks that she might feel guilty but so many negative emotions darken her that she cannot separate one out like a specimen for closer analysis. All that she can understand is that it really hurts and she has no idea how to make it stop.

Being with Joseph was the closest she had ever been to feeling like a functioning human being in the longest time, the closest to home. Only she realised too late and now she would never have that ever again, just like she would never have a mother who remembered her birthday or a sister she could grow to love. She pretends that it's the straight whiskey that brings stinging tears to her eyes.

The world spins a bit quicker, turning of its axis and threaten to roll away altogether. Time jumps and she has him pressed against her front door, key clumsily held in one hand, her other working at undoing his trousers.

Sex would only make her feel worse and it would never make her feel any better. But it makes her feel safe because while Michael may want her body he knows he can not save her soul.


End file.
